


Lighting Makes No Sound (HIATUS)

by Niveously



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Human, Deaf Derek, Derek Wears Glasses, M/M, Rating May Change, Tags May Change, Warnings May Change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-23
Updated: 2016-09-11
Packaged: 2018-06-10 08:20:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6947431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Niveously/pseuds/Niveously
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It’s just that it’s two am and I need to shoot this caffeine straight into my blood circulation if I’m gonna finish this paper I’m working on. And you’re in my spot. Not that I made a reservation, but, you know."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Hidamari ga Kikoeru](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/199933) by FUMINO Yuki. 



> I don't know, your amazing comments on "The Problem Is" just fuels my writing nerves. I felt like writing something a little more consistent, something more light hearted. But, yeah, you know me by now. Stuff I write tend to turn sad at some point. Oops. :D
> 
> I promise a happy ending, though!
> 
> Thank you for checking in, and I hope you enjoy!
> 
> Any and all mistakes are my own.

Stiles can’t help but wonder if they actually expected their students to go between the coffee shop across campus and the library at the top of the building with the lecture halls at two in the morning, because there’s no other explanation as to why they’re both open at every hour of every day. Also, there are no notes banning coffee in the library anywhere to be seen. There has to be a connection between the two.

No matter, he’s at his fifth cup of coffee, dragging his computer from the dark ages up the staircases from hell. There is an elevator, but it’s restricted to deliveries and people with fancy key cards. Which excludes Stiles completely.

The halls are mostly empty, but he runs across a few students here and there. Probably at least half of them are asleep, and the other half look like they’re about to be. What Stiles wouldn’t give for some sweet, sweet hours of nothingness in his bed. But since he’s him, he takes things and make them ten times more difficult for himself, because that’s a sensible thing to do. Being both a procrastinator and a perfectionist has never really been an easy task to balance.

He finally reaches the top floor, about to cough his lungs out of his face - he really should start hitting that gym - and makes his way into the library. There aren’t many people around, just one of the librarians and a few stray students, most of them about to call it a day. Stiles makes his way through the bookshelves, past the study rooms, and turns his last corner before he’s at his spot.

Only that his spot is taken.

He finds himself at a loss. He’s panting slightly, his coffee burning hot in his hand, the computer heavy in its bag around his shoulder, and his mind doesn’t seem to be able to figure out a plan B. Because no one sits in his spot, not ever. It’s squeezed into a corner of the library, has no proper lighting, and the small window is drafty as hell. It’s usually a safe bet.

It’s only when the guy in his chair looks up that he realizes that he’s been staring for a minute or so, which sparks something in his brain.

“Sorry, man, I didn’t mean to- it’s just that it’s two am and I need to shoot this caffeine straight into my blood circulation if I’m gonna finish this paper I’m working on. And you’re in my spot. Not that I made a reservation, but, you know. I usually sit right here and it’s quiet and no one ever comes here.”

Stiles gesticulates, even after he’s done talking, and it’s a miracle that he manages to keep his coffee from staining the floor. The guy in front of him looks like he’s just seen a dog drag its ass across his carpet - unamused and a little pissed off. Stiles realizes that he’s probably interrupting, since there are paper sheets covering almost the entire table and he has at least twenty sticky notes in the three books he has laid out in strategic ways. He should probably go and stop delaying a fellow hard working student. Too bad that he rarely does what he’s supposed to.

“Looks like you’re feeling right at home, though. Right. It’s not so bad when you get used to it. This spot, I mean. It’s close to the space books which is a savior when you’ve been reading Kafka for the past three hours, you know what I mean? Sometimes you just need a little good old Pluto and some star dust and you’re back on track.”

“You need to talk slower.”

Stiles stops right in a breath. So, he talks. That’s an improvement.

“I know, I know, I talk fast and I talk a lot. I guess that’s why they throw books at me, so that I’ll shut up for a while. I guess they’re not as happy when I come back and have learned like ten new words that I need to test out, though.”

“You literally need to talk slower.”

Stiles raises an eyebrow, his two am brain not catching up until he’s been looking at the guy in absolute silence for some uncomfortable long seconds. It also takes that the guy gestures to his ear for Stiles to really, really catch up.

“Shit, yes, literally. I’ll talk slower, for sure. Sorry.”

The guy nods, and Stiles feels like an idiot.

“I’m half asleep, I wasn’t thinking.”

“It’s okay.”

Another silence.

“I’m Stiles.”

“Sorry?”

“Stiles. My name is Stiles.”

The guy looks confused. He’s moving his lips, silently imitating the movement of Stiles’ mouth as if he’s trying to learn the word.

“Here, can I borrow this?”

Stiles grabs a piece of paper and a pen, and scribbles his name before turning it around so that it’s readable. The guy looks at it, and something changes in his face as he reads the name to himself. He then looks up, still no smile, but without looking like someone ate his last cupcake, at least.

“Derek.”

Stiles, on the other hand, can’t help but smile like an idiot at that. He has no idea why. It just feels good to know his name.

“Hi, Derek. Why aren’t you asleep?”

Derek raises his eyebrows, taken aback by the question at first. Then he clears his throat. Stiles wonders if maybe he doesn’t talk that much. His voice sounds raspy.

“I could ask you the same.”

“Fair enough. Long story short, I’m painfully behind on a paper and I need to get it done tonight.”

He feels a little iffy when Derek varies between looking him in the eyes and staring at his mouth. He sends a prayer that he doesn’t have anything in his teeth. Not that Derek would care, probably, but Stiles has this undying wish of not seeming like a complete ass in front of attractive people. Well, he’s already managed that, but it would be nice if history didn’t repeat itself in this case.

“Your turn.”

Derek looks down at his computer screen for a second before looking at Stiles again.

“Reading.”

Stiles nods enthusiastically, skin itching to lean over and see exactly what he’s reading. Derek looks as if he could be either the smartest person on the planet, or he could be reading blogs about protein shakes. Judging by what’s visible of his arms, it’s the latter.

“Which I need to get back to.”

Stiles snaps back to reality, nodding again.

“Yep, for sure. I’ll just find another spot.”

Derek looks confused again, and Stiles really needs to start keeping track of what he’s saying.

“Nevermind. Good luck with the reading.”

As Stiles crawls up in another chair, on the other side of the library, he finally gets working on his paper. He forgets about the world for a couple of hours and just types, the sound of his fingertips hitting the keyboard being the only thing making any real noise. He looks up from the screen for the first time when a couple of students walk in with bags under their eyes. He pities them, because he can tell that they’ve only had a few hours of sleep and that they’re starting early for the day. Stiles, on the other hand, is ready to call it a day.

As he gathers his things, he looks over to his spot, somehow feeling disappointed when he doesn’t see Derek. He must have left when Stiles was busy trying to string complicated sentences together for hours.

He wishes Scott a good morning when he passes him outside of their dorms, and then hurries off to bed. He collapses, too tired to undress properly, and falls asleep in his t-shirt and jeans at six am with his face buried in a pillow.


	2. Chapter 2

  
  


When he had picked Scandinavian folklore as his literature project he had, first of all, severely overestimated the amount of available information about it, and second of all, forgotten that he can’t understand anything that’s written in a Scandinavian language at all. And to find reliable, developed sources about Scandinavian folklore written in English? A near impossibility based on pure luck.

Which is why Stiles, yet again, finds himself in line at the coffee shop in the middle of the night. He already has four different orders memorized, the orders depending on how tired he is and how awake he needs to be in the immediate future. He knows it isn’t good for him, can feel it in how his body aches more and more with each passing day, but it works, temporarily. Just until he finds a better way to balance everything. And until he can feel comfortable with the foundation he has for his literature project.

He places his order to the barista when it’s his turn, pays, and then steps aside to wait for his coffee. The place is slightly dimmed, but still a lot brighter than outside. The tables, benches, and chairs are all made of dark wood, contrasting to the light walls. It’s sparely decorated with a few plants and paintings. Stiles likes it, especially when he doesn’t feel like spending his nights at the library. There aren’t many distractions and the people hanging around are either on the go or have a silent understanding that this isn’t the place for loud talking or slacking off. The concentration lies in the air, somehow, which is great for someone who doesn’t like the utter silence and isolation in a dorm room, but can’t focus with too much going on around them.

Stiles gets his coffee, thanks the barista, and makes his way deeper into the coffee shop. He finds an empty table in the back, just by one of the huge windows that gives him a good view over the street outside. He puts his computer bag on the table and sits down, studies the gently drizzling rain for a moment while sipping his coffee. Despite all the stress around school work, the atmosphere makes him relax. Some slow indie song is playing on low volume in the background, and the murmur of other students working is comforting in a way.

He puts his coffee down and pulls out his laptop, absently fiddling with a loose thread on his flannel while it boots itself up. Then he gets to work. He manages to find a few seemingly reliable sources on his subject after an hour or so, counts it as progress, and orders another coffee to celebrate the small victory.

When he looks up to thank the barista bringing his coffee over, he catches a familiar face in the corner of his eye. Derek is seated at a table just like his own, the same books as before spread out in front of him, just at the other side of the coffee shop. He looks as if he hasn’t shaved in a couple of days, the lack of sleep making itself known just underneath his eyes where a faint purple color has developed. He’s wearing a loose fitting black sweater and he’s rubbing his eyes underneath his glasses. Stiles would pity him if it wasn’t for the fact that they’re both in the exact same state of mind, probably.

Stiles decides to let him be, because god knows that no one is awake and studying at this hour for fun, and is just about to turn back to his own work when Derek looks up at him. There is a moment when they just kind of stare, and then Derek snorts and laughs silently into his hands, and Stiles can’t help but smile. At what, he has no clue. All he knows is that somehow it’s funny that they’re there, in a coffee shop at three thirty in the morning, the caffeine and stress being the only things to keep them going, and that they’re most likely stuck in the exact same hell hole. So he smiles, looks at Derek when he takes a deep breath straightens up in his chair.

Stiles gestures to his computer screen and makes a face, not entirely sure what he wants to communicate with that other than that he’s getting pretty sick of looking at all the words plastered there. But Derek’s smile grows wider as he nods, gesturing to his books in a similar way.

They kind of leave it at that, getting back into their projects. They look up at each other every now and then. Sometimes just because that somehow helps the brain figure out a word they want to write, and sometimes to share a moment of hopelessness, and sometimes just to look at the clock on the wall at the same time. It’s weird, but nice, which is all that matters when students with morning classes are starting to pop by for their first coffees of the day a few hours later.

That’s usually Stiles’ signal to get going, so he starts to gather his things to finally call it a day. When he glances up to Derek, maybe to ask him if he’s planning on torturing himself any further, he sees him putting books into a bag. So Stiles hurries a little, gets all his things, and waddles over to Derek’s table.

“Had enough for today?”

Derek nods as he stands up, hiking the shoulder strap of his bag up onto his shoulder. It surprises Stiles that he’s almost as tall as him, with just barely an inch between them. He’s somehow imagined that he’d be a lot taller, since his arms are probably the size of Stiles’ thighs. Okay, maybe not, but it’s not far from it.

When Derek raises an eyebrow at him, Stiles mumbles a “right” and walks over to the door of the coffee shop. He throws a smile and a “thank you” over the shoulder at the barista and holds the door open behind him for Derek. The morning air is chilly and fresh from the rain, and it feels nice to breathe in something else than the smell of coffee.

Derek, on the other hand, doesn’t seem to have the time to appreciate the simpler things in life and starts walking in the direction of the main campus. Stiles hurries to catch up to him.

“So, where are you heading?”

Stiles notices that Derek doesn’t look at him when he talks. He’s just about to lean into his field of vision and repeat himself so that Derek can read his lips, since that seems to be the way to go, when Derek nods toward the main building on the other side of campus.

“I’ve got an eight am.”

Stiles hisses, because damn, that’s harsh after a whole night in study hell.

Derek smiles to himself and pushes his glasses higher up on his nose. His horrible hours doesn’t seem to bother him nearly as much as just the thought of it bothers Stiles.

They walk in silence for a while. Derek nods at a few people along the way, most of them students, but one or two professors, as well. Stiles takes back what he thought about Derek the other day, that thing about him only being interested in protein shakes and lifting weights, because that really doesn’t seem to be the case. No, Derek seems smart. Studying all night with little to no breaks at all and then an eight o’clock without complaining even a little about it takes an interest, for sure.

Stiles suddenly realizes that they’re about to pass his left turn that would take him to the dorms.

“Well, this is me.”

Derek halts and turns to Stiles, nodding.

“So, uh, thanks for tonight?” Stiles counts it as a win that Derek smiles, even if it’s a small one.

“I’ll see you around, Derek. Let’s do this again.”

He nods again, sends Stiles one last upturn of the corner of his mouth, and starts walking again. Stiles has no idea if Derek can actually hear him, but he tries, anyway. He takes a deep breath and frames his mouth with his hands.

“But not anytime soon because I’m spending more money on coffee than food and that just isn’t right!”

He must’ve heard, because his shoulders are shaking like they did earlier at the coffee shop, when he laughed into his own hands.

When Stiles finally gets into bed, he’s feeling much more relaxed than just hours earlier, and he falls asleep easily without school on his mind.

  
  


When his alarm starts screaming at him to get out of bed at eleven thirty, he hasn’t slept nearly as many hours as he’d like to. Even so, he has class in an hour, and he needs to take a shower pretty badly, which means that he gets up. Scott looks worried when he stumbles into the small shared kitchen and pours himself a cup of cold coffee and puts it into the microwave.

“Are you okay?” Scott has this superpower that allows him to look painfully sad when he’s worried. It makes Stiles feel bad about the way he’s holding his school life together.

“I’m fine. Just need a coffee and a shower.” His voice sounds hoarse, and if Scott’s expression is anything to go by, he probably looks just like he sounds. Which is horrible.

He shrugs and gestures at Scott to not worry about it, even though Stiles knows it doesn’t work like that with him. If Scott decides to worry, he’ll worry. That’s the way it’s always been with the two of them. Not that Stiles doesn’t worry about him in return, but Scott will literally stop the world for you if he thinks you need it. Stiles asks himself every day what he did to deserve such a kind person in his life.

The microwave tells him that his coffee is ready, so he grabs his cup and heads back into his room. He works on downing his drink while gathering some clothes, a towel, and a bottle of two-in-one shower gel. He dumps the cup in the kitchen sink on his way to the showers, writing a note for himself to clean that up later.

The dorms are pretty empty in the middle of the day. If there are people in, they’re usually sleeping or cooking cup noodles before getting to a seminar, which pretty much sums up the entire college career.

As he gets to the showers, he puts his stuff on a hanger just outside and then gets in, pulling the shower curtain closed behind him. The steam from another shower further down the room clings to him before the water hits him, and when it does, it’s like he’s seen the face of god. He keeps underestimating what a shower can do when you feel like shit. Staying up all night studying makes him feel dustier than taking a eighteen hour flight, to be honest. And since he has some time to spare before his class starts, he takes his time in there. The steam lies thick in there when he turns the water off, and the cool air slipping in when he reaches for his towel prickles his skin. He ties the towel around his hips and then gets out to get his stuff.

Only that he’s not at all prepared to see a toned back with wide shoulders and damp skin and a black, messy hairdo standing by the sinks, all belonging to a certain Derek. He’s leaning over one of the sinks, close to the mirror in front of it, and half his face is covered in shaving cream. He’s pulling the razor in his hand along his jawline and somehow, it feels like Stiles is trespassing. Even more so when he notices that Derek’s towel is sitting snug around his hips and not his waist, like Stiles’ is.

He’s just about to seriously consider going back into the shower and wait until Derek’s gone when their eyes meet in the mirror. Stiles feels like a deer caught in headlights, but Derek just nods at him and then goes back to shaving. And Stiles, being Stiles, raises his hand to wave like an idiot and decides in the last moment to scratch the back of his head instead. Which makes him feel uncomfortably aware of his scrawny torso, because he’s standing half naked next to an anatomic masterpiece, and he really needs to get out before he gets the chance to embarrass himself further.

So he gets a hold of his things, decides that he’ll rather take the walk back to his room in just a towel than change in the shower room, and starts walking.

But the floors are wet, and Stiles is clumsy, and he’s trying to speed walk out of his own demise, so of course he falls. He slips and flails for what feels like an eternity, and manages to somewhat catch himself on one of the sinks. Somewhere along the way, Derek has reached out, and is now holding a steady grip on Stiles’ wrist, and Stiles wishes he could just implode and disappear from the surface of the earth.

“Are you okay?”

Derek looks a little taken aback, a little worried, and it just makes Stiles want to run away even more. He manages to nod, at least, and lets Derek pull him up on his feet.

“Yeah, sorry. Thanks. I’ll- I’ve got a seminar.”

Derek nods, keeps his eyes on Stiles until he starts to move again. Even then, Stiles can feel Derek’s eyes on him through the mirror. He escapes out of the showers and through the corridor, back into his room. As he dries himself off properly while swearing under his breath in the safety of his own room, he notices that he has some shaving cream on his hand.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is just an explanation for my absence and you can skip the notes if you want!
> 
> You are absolutely wonderful for sticking around even when I don't post, thank you so much! Most of you already know that I'm absolutely shit at keeping a writing schedule, but for those of you who don't: I am absolutely shit at keeping a writing schedule.  
> On a more personal note, I was hospitalized in June/July, and spent half of August recovering, which is my explanation as to why I haven't been on at all. Also, I started uni recently, and holy crap, I am not used to the pace. It's starting to clear up, though, so hopefully, I'll be posting more often than once every four months (god I am so sorry that you have to deal with me??). For the curious one, I'm studying the Archivist and Cultural Heritage Programme, Specialisation History of Ideas. Which sounds so much better in Swedish.
> 
> Once again, thank you so much for sticking around, and I hope you enjoy!

It’s not until a week later that Stiles runs into Derek again. Even though they’re obviously staying in the same dormitory, they’ve somehow managed to walk around each other, which is something Stiles is grateful for. He’s not overly keen on facing someone who’s seen him fall on his ass, wearing nothing but a towel. That’s a humiliation he’s more than happy to ignore for the rest of his life.

But Stiles does run into him, literally, because things can never be easy for him. It’s when he’s on his way to the cafeteria for a hard earned snack, and he’s walking and texting, which is a bigger risk than people make it out to be. He’s just minding his own business and he’s keeping to the left, out of the way from everyone else, and it’s not his fault that Derek has decided to stand right there, and so it’s not his fault that he smashes his face right into his muscular back. Not really.

When he registers what just happened and takes a step back, Derek turns around, and it should be illegal to look that good in a tank top with a sheen of sweat on his forehead. He’s obviously been working out, which makes sense if he wants to keep that body. He doesn’t even look stupid with his sweatpants rolled up to his knees and that bulky water bottle trapped underneath his arm. It’s a serious issue. What’s even more of an issue is that Derek actually smiles at him, the bastard. Just an upturn of the corner of his mouth, but it’s like he’s happy to see him.

“God, sorry. I wasn’t paying attention. Sorry.” Stiles needs to take a class on how to not sound like a complete idiot in front of people because seriously? A voice crack? That was years ago and it should have stayed back there, and even if Derek can’t hear him, there’s probably a huge blinking sign over his head, spelling “dipshit” in capital letters.

“It’s okay.” He just nods, like it’s no big deal that Stiles almost broke his own nose on his rock hard back muscles just seconds ago.

“Okay. Great. That’s great.”

Derek nods again.

“I’ll just get going, then.” Stiles laughs awkwardly under his breath, cursing his own existence before turning to walk around Derek to head to the cafeteria.

“Do you want to come to the library with me later?”

Stiles halts, turning back to Derek.

“Sorry?”

“I said, do you want to come with me? To the library?”

Stiles finds himself a little speechless, because that’s the last thing he thought he would hear Derek say. Also, it’s probably the longest sentence he’s said to him, ever. Not that they’ve really spent time with each other, but still.

“What, sick of randomly running into me everywhere?”

His heart skips a little when Derek looks to the floor and smiles. He somehow manages to be hot and sweet at the same time, and that’s not good for Stiles’ wellbeing.

“Just thought it’d be a nice change. To study with you.”

With you, he says. Not with someone, anyone, no. With you, and Stiles is way too far gone on someone he’s only met a handful of times.

“Yeah, for sure. I’ll be there. Is seven okay?”

Derek nods, smiling, and Stiles smiles back because it’s contagious, okay? They exchange numbers, and Stiles finally pulls himself away with a “later” and a wave, and walks straight past the cafeteria.

  
  


Stiles gets there fifteen minutes early. He tells himself it’s because he wants to set his laptop up and organize some papers before Derek gets there, and doesn’t dwell too much on the fact that he can do that just as well when Derek is present. He walks over to a table right next to the entrance, and is just about to put his things down when someone calls something that vaguely sounds like his name. He looks around and finds Derek waving from a table in the back after a few seconds. He can see Derek shaking his head, laughing to himself, as he walks over there.

“That’s not at all how to say your name, is it?”

Stiles smiles as he puts his things down at Derek’s table.

“I don’t mind. You can say it like that if you want.”

Derek shakes his head again.

“I’ll figure it out. Could you say it for me?”

Stiles raises his eyebrows as he sits down, spreads his papers and books out on his half of the table.

“What, say my name? How’s that gonna help?”

Derek leans back, looking a bit shy all of a sudden.

“If you take it slow, I can kind of hear what you’re saying.”

At that, a thousand questions pop up in Stiles’ head, and he bites his tongue at the last second. Even though he wants to dive so much deeper into that phenomenon, he’s found out the hard way that you can’t just ask about everything you think is fascinating.

“Stiles”, he says, dragging out the vowels a bit. He sees Derek watching his lips, copying the movement just like he did the first time they met.

“One more time.”

“Stiles.”

“Stiles.”

His smile widens, happy to hear Derek properly say his name for the first time.

“Yeah, that’s me.”

Derek smiles, even laughs quietly, looking very happy with himself.

As they dive into their studies a few minutes later, Derek shares his coffee with Stiles and laughs at his reaction to the lack of sugar and cream. Half an hour later, Stiles has found out that Derek has two sisters, one older, Laura, and one younger, Cora, and that he’s majoring in archaeology. Some twenty minutes later, he’s discovered that archaeology actually has a lot of things in common with folklore, and that they can help each other out. And about two hours later, Derek has fallen asleep on the table, his face half buried in his arms.

Stiles doesn’t have the heart to wake him up for another few minutes, having a hard time with just tearing his eyes away from him. It never really occurred to him before, but seeing him like this, he realizes that Derek always seem a bit guarded. Like he’s trying to keep people at a distance, somehow. But not now. His breath is deep and slow, his face relaxed, his glasses crooked and half way off, and he just looks calm.

But sleep is tugging at Stiles, and if they both fall asleep, they’re bound to have all kinds of soreness in the morning from the hours spent sleeping on a table. So he reaches over, puts a hand on Derek’s shoulder and softly shakes him.

“Time to wake up”, he says quietly, smiling at the way Derek’s face scrunches up and how his eyebrows furrow.

“Did you say something?” Derek’s voice is raspy, low and heavy with sleep. He slowly sits up, rubbing his eyes underneath his glasses, looking a lot smaller than he really is.

“That it’s time to wake up. So that we can go to bed.”

Derek grunts something that sounds like he thinks it’s a splendid idea, and Stiles starts gathering his things and putting them into his bag. Derek follows suit, yawning and looking absolutely exhausted. Well, naps tend to do that to you.

Stiles’ head clears as soon as they get out in the fresh air. He’s still tired, but not on the verge of actually falling asleep if he blinks. It’s nice, actually. Quiet. Just a few people taking that last trip to the coffee shop, or dragging their books back to the dorms. And for once, it doesn’t stress Stiles out. Usually when he’s on his way back to bed after several hours of studying, it’s anything but peaceful, because he needs to study more but he also needs sleep to be able to study more, and it’s just a downwards spiral from there. But now, he’s actually comfortable with the progress of his research, and since he hasn’t had five cups of coffee in the last two hours, he isn’t tense and stressed about going to bed. He’s actually looking forward to it.

“You know what, Derek?” Stiles pushes his hands into the pockets of his jeans, looking up at the sky. Derek looks at him, waiting.

“Thank you for saving my professors from a horrible paper.”

Derek raises an eyebrow, waiting for an explanation, but Stiles just looks back at him with a smile. Derek huffs out a laugh, shaking his head.

They walk in silence for a while, the soothing sound of their feet on the gravel the only thing really making any noise. It’s chilly, the moon casting a cold blue light over them, and Stiles can’t really remember the last time he felt this calm in the middle of a term.

Until the The Asshole himself, Jackson Whittemore, the only person who could ruin this just by showing his face, turns a corner and starts walking towards them.

Stiles curses under his breath, clearing his throat and looks absolutely everywhere except for at Jackson, who’s getting closer to them with every second. Derek glances at him, looking confused, but Stiles just smiles and shakes his head. Despite his effort, Derek catches on, somehow, and walks around Stiles, putting himself in between him and Jackson. Stiles is just about to tell him that it’s okay, that he doesn’t have to do that, when Jackson’s face lights up with recognition, and that shit eating grin spreads on his lips. Fucking great, here we go.

“Well, if it isn’t my least favorite gay.” Jackson cranes his neck, holds his chin up, just like he used to in high school whenever he wanted to seem bigger than someone else.

Derek looks between the two of them, his eyebrows furrowed again, and Stiles really wants to punch Jackson in the face.

“I’m sorry, I don’t speak asshole.” He sounds more tired than he’d like to. It’s dangerous to not be on top when Jackson starts something. In high school, it could turn ugly very quickly. And judging by the smug look on his face, it’s about to.

“Yeah, good one, Stilinski. Tell me, how much did you have to beg before you could fuck your way into uni? Or did you have dear daddy Sheriff put his life savings into finally sending you off?”

Stiles bites his cheek, hard. It tastes like blood.

His sexuality is one thing. And he can handle it when people question his brains. Hell, he can even take it when they pick on his ADHD.

But no one gets to talk about his dad like that. No one. And even if Stiles knows that he has absolutely no chance at a physical fight, he can still talk.

“Listen, fucktard. A buffalo obviously pissed in your gene pool, so I know you can’t be held accountable for your obsessive hubris disorder, but you really need to stop kissing your own ass. The shit sticks.”

And, yeah, that’s all it takes for Jackson’s neck to get blotchy with red spots, and even though Stiles will probably get his ass kicked, it’s proof enough that he won this round.

Only that when Jackson closes the final distance between them, Derek calmly steps in between them. Stiles is just about to put a hand on his arm, to get him out of the way, when Derek reaches back to actually make sure that Stiles stays behind him. Stiles opens his mouth to say something, to protest, but the look Derek shoots back at him shuts him right up.

“And who the fuck do you think you are? Get out of the way, dick.” Jackson attempts to walk around Derek to reach Stiles, but Derek just casually side steps in time with him, back and forth, back and forth. Which is probably the funniest thing ever, because Jackson is turning more and more red with every second, and Stiles wishes that he had a camera team with him.

“I said get the fuck out of my way, don’t fucking- you want a piece, huh? You wanna go?”

Stiles can’t see it, but he just knows it, deep in his soul, that Derek is smiling. And then he casually pulls his sweater off over his head, along with his glasses, and hands them over to Stiles. He’s only wearing a slim fitting tank top underneath, and Stiles can tell that he’s flexing his arms as he crosses them in front of him, making himself look bigger without looking like he’s trying. Jackson kind of stutters right in a step, his hands clenching and unclenching, his lips forming words that don’t quite make it out. Stiles bites his knuckles hard enough to bruise them to keep from honest to god barking.

“I don’t have time for you dickheads” Jackson finally says, not really sounding that confident anymore. “Get out of my way.” He stomps right past them, not unlike a sulking kid, and Stiles gives himself about thirty seconds before he bends over, gasping for air, laughing loud enough to probably wake half of campus up.

He waves Derek’s glasses and sweater in his general direction, trying to tell him that he can’t be trusted to hold anything at this state, and crouches down with a hand on the ground just to keep upright. After a few minutes, he can actually take normal breaths of air, and sees Derek trying to hide that smile that’s just begging to grow wider.

“Oh come on, Derek, that was the most amazing thing to ever happen to me!” And that, out of everything, makes him smile properly. Which just makes Stiles smile even wider.

“Seriously, that was so great! On behalf of every geek and nerd and unpopular person in all of Beacon Hills high school, thank you. You shall be remembered for all eternity.”

Derek shrugs, pulling his sweater on again and putting his glasses back up on his nose, now completely back to his sweet, quiet self.

Stiles didn’t think the night could end in a better way, but it sure did, and he can’t help throwing his arms up to the sky in a satisfied stretch. “What a time to be alive, huh?” He looks at Derek, who just nods, huffing out a laugh. Yeah, he’s had worse.


End file.
